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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948375">Give Us Pause</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lthien/pseuds/sofancydancy'>sofancydancy (Lthien)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Found Family, Hurt Jaskier, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortal Geralt, Immortal Jaskier, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Maybe that will change, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spy Jaskier, The Old Guard AU, Tired Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), canon cursing, geralt thinks the world isnt worth saving, immortal aiden, immortal eskel, immortal lambert, jaskier is a famous pop star, jaskier is like harry styles, jaskier needs help, jaskier's family is terrible, shakespeare god love him, the witcher old guard au, the witchers deserve nicer things, undercover jaskier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:35:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,916</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948375</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lthien/pseuds/sofancydancy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"One day, however many suns they got to spend under with their loved ones. However many moons—it ended all the same; the same way they went out: bloody and alone. At least together they found a place in the world. Even if the world seemed not worth saving with every passing day. Now, they had another to find. After hundreds of years, yet another Immortal was born into the world. Brought into it, screaming."</p><p>Or, I watched The Old Guard on Netflix and wrote this very quickly and loved every second of it!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. To be Born Anew</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey!! I watched the Old Guard with a dear friend and we were screaming back and forth about this idea throughout the movie...I think I may have been screaming more at them though, lol!! I thought this was perfect for the witchers and had to give it a shot...Hopefully, it reads well; I've been in a writers block for god knows how long! Kudos and comments are always welcome! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier was used to the blinding lights. The heat of the stage, and its lights that seemed to burn his skin with every strum of his guitar—every time his lips touched the scorching mic. He was used to the lights of London, glittering and timeless. With its wet pavement, trollies, and passing cars. Blinding lights were practically his life. It was a different light when he died. It was brighter…hotter. Stranger than anything he had ever experienced in his brief life. At twenty-five, he’d felt like he had lived for a century.</p><p>In all honesty, Jaskier should have seen it coming. He lived fast in every sense of the word. Worked hard, sang until his lungs thought they’d burst, and climbed his way through the shits of life. He did what he had to, but with a noble conscience that his family had no claim of; title or no. He worked hard and played harder. Partied. Drank, and practically played roulette with his life every day by the age of eighteen.</p><p>At fifteen Jaskier had left his family. He’d taken only what gave him joy: his guitar and notebooks filled with his music. They were what had mattered then, and became his life in every sense of the word. But, you can’t solely live on it. He found that out as soon as he’d left.</p><p>So, when he was nineteen Jaskier fell into espionage. Fuck knows how—but he did. He was good at it too. So good that it nearly scared him. He did it all without having to kill anyone too, which was what made it stomach-able for him. He knew how to flirt his way in and <em>out </em>of any situation. If there was one thing he could thank his family for, it was for his corn-flower blue eyes and bright smile that seemed to ensnare any he curled a lip towards. Too, he could look like anyone. He could blend in if he needed to—and he did. He did it <em>well.</em></p><p>The only thing was—as he ranked higher in the secret government, his musical career did too. He was the only one glad for it, in all honesty. It was everything he had ever dreamed of. Since he could sing, he <em>had</em>. With the start of his musical career, he’d thought he could set aside his…<em>services</em>. He thought he had; or at least found a happy medium. In truth, he was burnt out but hadn’t realized it. Which was the real danger.</p><p>He never stopped.</p><p>That is, until a bullet found its way into his heart. Yeah, he stopped <em>dead</em>.</p><p>Until, he <em>didn’t. </em></p><p>The light was terrible. It coursed through Jaskier’s bones, lacing itself through the very core of him. His soul told him that he was dead—as did the pain. It was searing and spread with the light. Though the light was the one that took him, it was also the thing that brought him back.</p><p>He felt it when the bullet left his heart. Felt when his lungs took in a breath too deep and too fast to be natural.</p><p>Jaskier woke alone, cold, and in darkness. With his rapid, damp, breaths Jaskier felt the scream bubble out before it slipped from his lips. And slip from his lips it did: it tore through the seams of the body bag he was in, as did his arms and legs—desperate to be free.</p><p>When he was, Jaskier found himself in a morgue; in the dark. He trembled in fear and adrenaline, his hands going to where the bloodied stain still remained in his bright turquoise blazer.</p><p>“Oh god,” Jaskier rasped, clenching his hands against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to recall his ill-fated evening.</p><p>
  <em>He was at one of his concerts. The crowd was loud, as usual. They screamed in tune with every word, making Jaskier feeling like a god. The stage sparkled with sweat and the thrill of it all. This was it—what made life worth living to him. The mic fit just right in his jeweled hands, his lips hot against it, his kohled eyes closed. He could taste the heavens on his tongue, his heart racing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was perfect. The rain against his skin felt like the sun—despite being late in the evening. His hair plastered against his forehead, Jaskier sang every woe and bright point that brought him to the stage. </em>
</p><p>“Oh <em>god</em>,” Jaskier half croaked, his trembling fingers mussing up his already damp hair as he saw it: The gun, the man’s crazed eyes and frothing mouth, the bright white of the blast.</p><p><em>He heard the screams first, the grunts of people getting shoved. He heard the shouts of security—his song had ended with the ear-shattering tune of a bullet and screams</em>.</p><p>Then…the searing light.</p><p>Jaskier opened his tear-filled eyes, the kohl long washed away. Nothing made sense, but he could not deny one thing: his death. The evidence of it was all over him and the blood made him retch suddenly, gripping the fucking <em>autopsy</em> table beneath him to do so.</p><p>On shaking legs, Jaskier pulled himself away from his horror. Still dressed in his bright stage clothes, a night that had promised more delight than how it ended, Jaskier marched on. As he always had, and always would. Though now he was not Jaskier, the popular pop-artist, but yet again thrust into his life of secrecy. For a new reason—scarier than anything he had ever faced before: deathless and alone. Roughed up and hopeless, he slipped into the darkness of the night.</p>
<hr/><p>Gold eyes opened with a gruff breath, pupils dilating and irises quickly darting around the room. “Shit, <em>no,</em>” an equally gruff voice ground out and a scarred hand rubbed at tired eyes.</p><p>“You saw it too, Geralt.” It wasn’t a question—it never was. Geralt turned his head and his golden eyes settled on their equal, an eternity of brotherhood and love passing through one simple gaze. They soon returned to their task however, the whetstone smooth and silent. It’s owner sharpened a long broadsword; its twin already shining safe within its scabbard. A scarred mouth frowned, the action pulling at the scars long-healed. The sword paused on the stone and Geralt’s jaw clenched.</p><p>“I saw rain and...hundreds of faces. I felt what they did: a grateful god.”</p><p>Geralt’s jaw remained clenched, watching as Eskel tried to make sense of a death they had nothing to do with, yet <em>everything</em> at the same time.</p><p>“I felt him die,” came a soft voice, and both Geralt and Eskel turned to meet another two pairs of gold eyes in the corner, both Lambert and Aiden sitting up from where they had been sleeping. One of Lambert’s hands curled protectively against his chest and he looked expectantly at Aiden. Aiden swallowed thickly and nodded, one hand brushing Lambert’s sleep-warm hip to ground himself in the here and now.</p><p>“I saw the gun and the man’s face. He looked like a man possessed. Whoever this man is…he’s in some kind of deep shit.”</p><p>Geralt grunted a laugh, standing and grabbing his twin pistols waiting on the banged-up table in front of him. They all stood with him, Eskel still holding his sword and Lambert and Aiden quick to grab their gear too, blinking the sleep from their eyes. Geralt felt his heart swell at the sight of them: his family. But he also felt the ache that he had for the last millennia...or two, or three.</p><p>“I’m far too old for this shit,” Geralt told them as he had for a millennium. He wasn’t joking, and they all knew it.</p><p>“No shit,” Lambert huffed and rolled his sleep-locked shoulder. Aiden pressed a quick kiss to it before securing his fixed blades to his muscular thigh and clipping Lambert’s pistol against Lambert’s hip. “Now, what did you see, boss?”</p><p>Geralt looked away from them, to the wall. His jaw had yet to release its tension. With a dark sigh, he closed his eyes with a wince. “…I saw the light that we all know so dearly. I tasted blood…and I felt the scream he made when he came back to this gods-forsaken world. It was like a babe being born—raw. I saw and felt his fear.” Geralt shifted his weight on his feet, swallowing hard.</p><p>“He’s young—terribly so. <em>Fuck.</em> He’s…just a baby.”</p><p>Geralt swallowed hard again when he felt Eskel’s warm hand grip his shoulder, the magic hidden there as bright and warm as his brother-in-arms himself. The warmth and understanding that he found in his brother’s eyes made Geralt's ancient bones sing.</p><p>“Let’s bring him home then,” Eskel told them all, but his eyes were on Geralt only.</p><p>“One problem,” Aiden sighed and all looked to him, the man resting his bearded chin against Lambert’s right shoulder, rubbing like a cat. “We have no fucking clue who this man is.” A hum of agreement made itself known around the room, except from Geralt.</p><p>“He’s a musician: popular, by the crowd Eskel described. Most likely dangerous from what Aiden told us. In a place so crowded, he was purposefully targeted. The murderer clearly did not care that he was seen, or of his own life. He was a man on a mission.”</p><p>“And said mission was accomplished,” Eskel finished for him darkly, gold eyes near amber with new-founded brotherhood with their unknown kin. His shoulders were squared and his grip on his sword reminded his brothers of their hundreds of battles faced together with that same determined look.</p><p>“Was it?” Geralt asked with a lop-sided smile, quick to tie up his snowy hair away from his face, the sides cut close to his scalp for the heat of the summer, but still long on top for sentimentalities and a culture long…long dead. His brothers were always first to adapt to the world before he did. However, he was the oldest.</p><p>“Accomplished enough,” Lambert mumbled under his breath, his golden eyes filled with a sadness they could never escape from, his hand still curled against his heart. “Why now? It’s been, what? Five hundred years?” All eyes fell on Eskel who swallowed and looked down at the dirt below them.</p><p>“Who the fuck knows,” Geralt responded dully, walking from their hide-out without another word, squinting as the dawn hit his irises. His family followed him, as usual, into the unknown of the day. They were all exhausted, but not from lack of sleep. They were tired of living in uncertainty and knowing that though they were seemingly promised an eternity, that eternity was false.</p><p>One day, however many suns they got to spend under with their loved ones. However many moons—it ended all the same; the same way they went out: bloody and alone. At least together they found a place in the world. Even if the world seemed not worth saving with every passing day. Now, they had another to find. After hundreds of years, yet another Immortal was <em>born</em> into the world. Brought into it, <em>screaming.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Zombie-Ghoul-Thing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>White hair, golden eyes, resting bitch face, a whole lot of black leather and…was that a fucking sword on his back? Oh, and the silver pistol in his hand, limp at his side. He practically looked like he’d shot dinner than a person—ghoul, zombie—what the fuck ever!</p><p>“Geralt,” was all Geralt huffed down at him, Jaskier blinking up at him in shock, awe, and rage.</p><p>“Ah, well,” Jaskier hissed, his head bobbing in fury, “Nice fucking shot, Geralt, you fucking cock!” Geralt’s mouth ticked up in one of the corners as he stared down at Jaskier, his eyes going to where the man still held tightly on his leg, trying for pressure.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm wrapping this up at 3am...so any mistakes I'm blaming it on that ok loll! But, yes! A continuation! Also: I'm American and have no honest clue what the city of London is like besides movies, books, etc....or the country, bare with me. I'm all up for hints lollll</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt stared down at the drawing in his hand, rumbled from touch, and stained from the dark dye of his jeans. Aiden had drawn it not long after realizing that there was yet <em>another</em> of their pack waiting for them, having seen the moment that shook all of their lives. On it was the face Geralt saw in his dreams…and nightmares. Bloodied lips, wide-terrified eyes, the charcoal quick and jagged across the page—a testament to the man’s fear. It was all the same. Every time. But, this <em>kid </em>was just that.</p><p>Julian Alfred Panktratz. What a fucking name.</p><p>When you dream of their face, their <em>every move </em>since awakening…their identity is quickly revealed. Not to mention it was the only fucking thing every radio and TV set yelled about: <em>the heinous murder of pop-star ‘Jaskier,’</em> <em>the beloved flower of the United Kingdom. </em>Not to mention the ‘abduction’ of his body from the local morgue. Dead at twenty-five, brought back by…whatever it was.</p><p>So, yeah. A kid.</p><p>After Geralt’s thousands, what was twenty-five? A blip in memory—time. A child brought into a life of blood and violence…for what? Even after a millennium, the question was unanswered. Would most likely stay that way, as time told. However, if there was <em>one thing </em>that immortality taught them all, don’t trust that it will be easy to find them. Too, they were all crafty and gifted with something unique to each and every one.</p><p>Geralt, the eldest: combat, stealth, speed…any weapon sang in his hands and he made mortality scream with his righteousness. Before the others, he was alone for well over eight-hundred years. His strength and stark white hair made him a legend, his immortality made him a god.</p><p>Eskel was the next immortal, talented in magic and the signs they all learned from Geralt and the naturality that came with the eternal…Something only they could control and use. Eskel’s chaos though was unlike his brothers’ own. His thrummed under his skin and made his already golden eyes all the brighter, always hot and eager to serve. Eskel too was lost for a time, his memory wiped clean for nearly six hundred years. He was found again in the late eighteen hundreds, six hundred years after Aiden and Lambert found Geralt--no doubt their awakening linked with Eskel's loss. Their story was yet the most unique.</p><p>Having killed each other that first time, Aiden and Lambert kept <em>on </em>killing one another for a time after. Rivals in their first lives, turned lovers as time went on. They were like two sides of the same coin, swords natural in their hands and their senses on par with Geralt’s; especially when together. They were the luckiest. Having found someone to hold throughout time and knowing that their bond was near timeless.</p><p>Now was the question: what was this ‘Jaskier’ hiding behind his glitz and high life? What brought this man into their own, nearly half a millennium later? Why now?</p><p>Huffing, Geralt crushed the sketch in his leather-clad fist for the hundredth time, stuffing it back in his pocket. He didn’t need to see Julian’s face to <em>see </em>it. All he had to do was close his eyes. It would be that way until he finally found him. Even then, his face would remain like his brothers’ before him—his family. Not long after that, his cell phone rang.</p><p>“Seen anything?” Geralt asked, not bothering with a greeting. After a time, greetings were useless. Best to get to the point. Eskel chuckled in the line, Geralt practically seeing the shake of his head.</p><p>“He’s quick. Not that I blame him; lil shit’s popular as hell. Out of everyone, it just <em>had </em>to be someone who lives in the spotlight.”</p><p>“Maybe not,” Geralt replied blandly, his golden eyes searching in the dark of the night. Their visions, frustratingly, involved <em>all </em>of them to solve this puzzle. Like his death and rebirth, they all saw something different. Where he was at a certain time, then where he was an hour or four later. One saw the shedding of a glittery ass blazer (a smartass move), another the determined look of someone on the run, the other saw it when it crumpled into tears and anger. Geralt saw that one not an hour ago.</p><p>Not too far from where he was standing, to be frank.</p><p>“You’re right,” Eskel mumbled with a sigh. “Being part of the pack, he’s got to be crazy as shit. Though, the media ate up everything about him. His apartment is crawling with the media, the sound had my magic flaring. I thought I sensed something when I was there, but it was too much. The city is so fucking loud.” They all had issues with sensory overload, their heightened instincts on overdrive. Fuck knew what the new one felt, being reborn smack dab in the middle of London. The lights, the cars, the people…It was all so much.</p><p>And a fucking pop-star? Julian had lived off it all. What did he live for now, when the life he had known was no longer a possibility? They all felt for the cub in that way.</p><p>The buzz on Geralt’s hip told him that another was calling. Eskel had been silent on the other line, both of them understanding without needing speech.</p><p>“Bring him home,” Was all Eskel said before he hung up, Geralt already pressing another cellphone against his ear.</p><p>“He’s heading out of the city. He’s laying really fucking low. It’s like he’s done this for years, Geralt. He moves every hour or so, not staying too long in one place.”</p><p>“Fuck.” Geralt rubbed his hand down his face. “That could mean two things: he’s really good at hiding, he’s fucking spiraling, or, both.”</p><p>“We all spiraled,” Aiden replied, a soft huff. “Lambert is on the outskirts of the city, Eskel mid-way.” They didn’t want to overwhelm the newbie, all silently agreeing Geralt would be the one to gather him. They were placed to help secure them all, eyes always watching the cameras and remembering the faces of those who stared at them a little too long. After all, the centuries came with all the scars and wear and tear. They all had their own wounds, some that refused to heal as the others did. Eskel wore his finest on his face, the scar that shocked all of them when he resurfaced: maimed, confused, and centuries lost. They were still trying to figure that one out, now they had another mystery to add.</p><p>“Ah, he’s on the move again. Head south, he’s inching closer to Eskel. I’ll call him.” Call ended, Geralt shoved the cell in his back pocket, doing as Aiden told him—melting into the shadows.</p>
<hr/><p>Jaskier did not know where to go. Where did one go when they somehow came back from the dead? What did it make him now? A zombie? Ghoul? <em>Shit.</em> He stayed low the best he could; ditching his blazer hours ago now and ripping the beaded tassels from his jeans. For once, he wished that he preferred a more subdued style. However, Jaskier the <em>musician </em>was meant to be seen. Jaskier the, uh, zombie-creature-thing…decidedly <em>was not. </em></p><p>Even if Jaskier wanted to somehow deny his death, the media was <em>carnivorous</em> over it. It was fucking everywhere. He could not go home if he’d tried; the media surrounded his apartment complex with the flashes of dozens of cameras. Hidden in the bushes at the time, Jaskier was lost…and wet. He was so close to home, but could not go back. He tried not to think too hard on that, determined to just get through the twilight and early morning before anything else.</p><p>“<em>What the fuck</em>,” Jaskier hissed for the thousandth time. In a messed up way, he was rather glad that it was so late—or <em>early</em>. The darkness made it easier for him to go without being seen as he tried to get out of the city. Or, at least the inner city.</p><p>Another thing? Everything was so fucking <em>loud. </em>It was like he was stuck in the studio with the knob of the volume snapped. Covering his ears didn’t help either. Was this the first sign that he was turning into the undead? What next, would his eyes turn red, his teeth elongate? Every chance he got, he was poking his canines, checking his pulse. What he found scared him even more. There was a pulse, but…It was so fucking slow. <em>What the actual fuck.</em></p><p>Even if he knew that his stress levels were on a whole new fucking level, his pulse remained <em>slow. </em>His eyes burned too; itched. The lights, the fumes…It was so much. Everything he loved about the city was suffocating him. So, even if he didn’t know exactly <em>where </em>he was going, his feet were pulling him <em>out, </em>fumbling like a blind man.</p><p>More than once he found himself pressed against cold stone, hidden in a dark alley away from people. The cool, wet, stone grounded him as he laid his muddy forehead upon it. Even as he felt his burning eyes stream with tears that he had no clue how his aching body produced. His hands felt grounded upon the stone he walked in and around for all his life, the vibrations of life through it linking him back to the world.</p><p>Jaskier wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk being seen, or who knows what might happen to him. Experiments? To be caged and poked? He fucking came back from the dead. There was no way that he was going back to anything remotely normal.</p><p>By the time dawn came, Jaskier was in hysterics. Having cried for hours and wandering aimlessly, he was ready to wake up from whatever nightmare this was. His body ached, his clothes in tatters. He truly looked like the ghoul he was to become. Even the sun fucking hurt. It was bright and fucking <em>hot. </em></p><p>Huffing angrily, Jaskier plopped in the grass. He was quite far from the city now, finding himself in a grassy field in the middle of who the hell knows. He didn’t look like himself, rumbled, and <em>wet. </em>His feet ached from the cold and the walk. If someone were to see him now, they would probably think him homeless. That was his goal anyways. He had rubbed as much dirt and mud on him as possible, trying his best to not get recognized.</p><p>In the field, feeling the burn of the sun, Jaskier wept in his sodden arms. The kind of weeping that comes from the soul and rattles your bones. He was lost and scared. He had nowhere to go, or anyone to turn to.</p><p>He half choked on his tongue when he <em>felt </em>the grass next to him crunch under the weight of another, his ears giving an alarmed twitch. Without looking he scrambled away from whoever had sat next to him, easily avoiding the hand that tried to grab his collar. He just bolted for it, his aching legs understanding that he needed to <em>move.</em></p><p>Until another bullet found its way in his left calf. He went down howling, tears seeming to forever be in his eyes as he gripped his bleeding leg, rolling on his back. He blinked multiple times, trying to see the one who had caught him, unsure who the hell would know he was <em>breathing.</em> It wasn’t until the person’s shadow loomed over him that he got a good look.</p><p>White hair, golden eyes, resting bitch face, a whole lot of black leather, and…was that a fucking sword on his back? Oh, and the silver pistol in his hand, limp at his side. He practically looked like he’d shot <em>dinner </em>than a person—ghoul, zombie—what the <em>fuck </em>ever!</p><p>“Geralt,” was all <em>Geralt </em>huffed down at him, Jaskier blinking up at him in shock, awe, and <em>rage.</em></p><p>“Ah, <em>well</em>,” Jaskier hissed, his head bobbing in fury, “Nice fucking shot, Geralt, you fucking <em>cock</em>!” Geralt’s mouth ticked up in one of the corners as he stared down at Jaskier, his eyes going to where the man still held tightly on his leg, trying for pressure.</p><p>“How’s your leg?”</p><p>If Jaskier had the ability to get <em>angrier</em>, he would. What the hell kind of question was that?!</p><p>“Fucking <em>shot, </em>what else<em>—What the fuck?” </em>Jaskier nearly screamed as he checked the bullet wound, the blood flow stopped. What he found instead was the bullet pressed against his trembling, bloody, palm, no wound there. “This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening—” Jaskier rambled silently, over and over. Geralt sighed through his nose and slid his pistol back in its halter. He crouched down on his heels, Jaskier’s instinct still causing him to start scrambling backward. That is until Geralt grabbed one boot with a shake of his head.</p><p>“I’m sure you have questions,” Geralt told him simply, Jaskier’s muddy boot still in his loose, ringed, grip. “But I think that’s really gonna have to wait. Considering you’re literally on every fucking program and radio station. I’ll tell you this: I’m the same.”</p><p>Jaskier’s brain was swimming. In one hand he clutched onto the bullet that was once in his <em>fucking leg </em>like a lifeline, his knuckles pressed in the grassy earth, his other palm clutching the grass in a death-grip. He stared into the unnaturally golden eyes before him, like a lost child. Geralt stared back, seeing this kid in front of him falling apart like he had the others…Like he had himself.</p><p>“Just…watch, okay?” Releasing Jaskier’s boot, Geralt lifted his hands slowly, giving the man a clear view of them. He slowly reached for one of the blades pressed to his thigh, giving Jaskier a slow shake of his head when he saw the kid follow with too keen eyes. He placed the blade between his teeth, quick to jerk up one of his sleeves, and bore his forearm.</p><p>“Oh, fuck no,” Jaskier was quick to stop him, but Geralt already had his arm bleeding—the blade a blur before Jaskier’s burning eyes. The wound was long, but not too deep to kill, from Geralt’s wrist bone to the bend of his arm. It bled, badly. Jaskier, shocked, tried to reach for him, rather than <em>flee </em>and Geralt felt something tell him that he would fit right in. Dead not ten hours ago, born again, <em>shot </em>again, he still tried to help the <em>one who shot him</em>.</p><p>“We bleed. We feel death. We feel…everything.” Geralt told Jaskier, still baring his bleeding forearm. Jaskier’s eyes went from his face to his gushing wound, his fingers twitching to <em>do something. </em>“But, we heal. Eventually.” He finished with a wince.</p><p>“Like…,” Jaskier trailed off, looking into the grassy hillside that surrounded them, blinking when the sun seemed to blind him. He didn’t want to look into the golden eyes again when he said it. “I…died a few hours ago.”</p><p>“Yes,” Geralt simply confirmed. He could feel his skin stitching itself back together and he shook Jaskier’s boot to get his attention. “Look.” Jaskier’s mouth went dry at the sight, watching as the skin literally closed itself.</p><p>“What are we?” Jaskier half-whispered to the breeze, his head falling upon his chest.</p><p>“Nearly eternal,” Geralt said and stood, the sun yet again blinding Jaskier who quickly shielded his eyes. Geralt chuckled deep, his teeth showing. “It fucking sucks the first couple of decades, not gonna lie. But it gets easier.” He extended one hand and Jaskier found no reason not to take it. When he did he gasped, a jolt like something that of lightning coursing through his hand into Geralt’s own. Geralt’s eyes blew wide, quick bursts of his brother’s faces flashing in his eyes along with Jaskier’s own and…purple eyes. Geralt quickly dropped Jaskier’s hand and took a step back, throat tight.</p><p>“Y-you,” Jaskier mumbled, eyes wide and still burning. “I’ve dreamt of you…of the ones that I saw just now. I’ve…for years.”</p><p>“Years,” Geralt repeated, voice gruffer than before, golden eyes near in slits as he stared at the man before him as he stumbled like a fawn onto his legs.</p><p>“Dreams, random people I’ve seen on the tube…” Jaskier rubbed at his eyes. “Why the hell do my eyes burn so much?!”</p><p>“Purple eyes,” Geralt pressed, ignoring the question. Jaskier blinked at him irritably.</p><p>“Not one of yours, then? No fucking clue then.” Geralt shook his head, his eyes cutting back and forth, jaw clenched.</p><p>“Let’s just get back to the others first,” Geralt gruffed and grabbed Jaskier by one of his elbows, practically guiding him along.</p><p>“The scar-face one?”</p><p>“All of them,” Geralt huffed and quickly answered the phone when it rang once, not once slowing down. “Found him,” He told Eskel and Jaskier huffed next to him, trying to pull his arm free from Geralt’s hold.</p><p>“Fucking shot me is what he did,” Jaskier half-shouted and Geralt gave him a quick shake to shut him up. The answering laugh on the other end helped calm Jaskier’s fears. At least one of them had some sense of humor, or could at least <em>laugh</em>.</p><p>“I like him,” Eskel chuckled and Geralt’s lip ticked up once again.</p><p>“We’re heading back home.”</p><p>“Yeah, we know. The pack’s heading back now. See you in a few hours.” Eskel then paused, tongue clicking. “Just…don't kill him okay? The first few deaths are the fucking worst.” Jaskier half squeaked and Geralt shook him again, rolling his eyes.</p><p>“It takes too fucking long the first few times. I’d rather he walk than I drag his ass. I don’t need my face plastered everywhere as the one who abducted his fucking body.” Jaskier didn’t even know what to say to that, so he just tried to keep up.</p><p>“Do they even <em>plaster</em> anything anymore?” Eskel laughed again and Geralt’s mouth pinched tight, thumbing the end button with a gruff: “shut up.”</p><p>“H-he’s right though,” Jaskier blinking up at Geralt’s quite handsome side profile. “They don’t plaster wanted photos anymore.”</p><p>Geralt stopped, huffed “Come here,” and then Jaskier met his fist in a quick punch to the gut. Jaskier went sprawling <em>yet again</em>.</p>
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